At thirty minutes past
Office hours on this
January afternoon
My sight catches the flock
Snared by an orange-red sweep
Of just-ripe sunset.
Moving further
Like the suspended forms
Of Alexander Calder
The birds turn into
Silver and black shapes
Punched into the sky.
Fast receding
Into a confetti shower
It seems these fleeting figures
Burst like a handful of raindrops
Drizzling out of a cloud pocket
To give my day's end
A calm beginning
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